


kindly calm me down

by Professor_David



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Newt Lives, Nightmares, Poor Thomas, Post-The Death Cure, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i had this in my head for a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 23:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13937601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_David/pseuds/Professor_David
Summary: "But I'm here, Tommy," Newt said as calmly as he could. He carefully unwrapped Thomas’ arms from himself and pulled back a little to look into Thomas’ eyes. "You saved me. You knocked me out so Minho had time to run back with the cure. I'm right here and I'm with you,and I swear this is not a dream."





	kindly calm me down

Everything was on fire and Thomas had never been more scared in his life.

It felt like they were running for an eternity and still there was no end to it. His lungs were screaming at him for more air and his legs were buckling under him, his body was tired and asking for some rest, just for a minute or two, but he kept pushing it to its limits stubbornly. They didn’t have time for that, not right now, not with everything that was at stake. 

To his left Minho wasn’t any better, breathing heavily and grinding his teeth together as he adjusted Newt’s seemingly dead weight on their shoulders. Minho was exhausted, physically and mentally, after everything he’d been through, after every experiment WCKD ran on him. There were huge bags under his eyes and sweat was rolling down his face, his shoulders were trembling under Newt’s weight, and it was killing Thomas to see him like that. The whole scenario was killing him, if he was being honest. It wasn’t fair. Everything they all went through, the Maze, then the Scorch and now this. They were just kids, they didn’t deserve any of this. 

Another few steps, and Thomas couldn’t help but throw Newt another look, and his heart sank. Newt was so out of it, basically hanging between them, his legs barely holding him. Everything in Thomas was shouting at him that _this_ wasn’t right. This was some other Newt, because _his_ Newt wasn’t like that. _His_ Newt was bright and sharp-tongued, and smart, not so deadly pale and weak; he was kind and supportive, and loving, not aggressive and angry because the Flare was eating his brain.

Again, something exploded somewhere behind them, falling with a loud crash. The ground shook under their feet and they almost fell, but at the last moment somehow managed to keep their balance. Newt grunted irritatedly.

“It's useless,” he croaked.

“Shut up,” Minho softly growled back.

“You know it yourself. There’s no time.”

“What did I just tell you?”

“Minho, together we won’t make it, we don’t have enough time.”

“I said, shut up!” Minho repeated, raising his voice. There was desperation in it.

Thomas looked behind them. There were people running around, screaming, crying out for help. The cranks were getting closer, attacking everyone they could get; people tried to fight them off, but falling miserably. The fire was spreading further and further, swallowing everything on its way. The fallen building was not that far away from the boys, and it was just a matter of time before another would fall and crash them. They really didn’t have that much choice here.

“Newt’s right,” Thomas said suddenly and stopped. “Together we won’t make it.”

Minho stopped too and stared at him in shock, already opening his mouth to argue, but Thomas beat him to it: “We should split up.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are the fastest out of all of us. You should run ahead and get the cure, and I'll get Newt. This is our only chance.”

Minho thought about it for a few seconds, and Thomas almost snapped at him for wasting their precious time. Finally, Minho nodded and lifted Newt’s arm off him. Thomas’ muscles trembled and he almost fell when Newt’s weight was moved to his tired shoulders.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing, Thomas,” Minho said.

Thomas nodded, adjusting Newt on his shoulders and holding him tightly. “I hope so, too.”

Minho threw his last glance at Newt, noticeably fighting with himself, before finally turning on his heels.

“Minho?” Newt called suddenly, making him turn again. Newt sent him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

Thomas’ breath hitched, and Minho swallowed thickly. He stared at Newt for a moment, before nodding curtly and turning around, quickly disappearing from their view.

Thomas looked back at Newt. His eyes were fixed on the spot where Minho had stood just a few seconds ago, his smile already gone. He was pale and clearly weakened. There were deep shadows under his eyes and his lips were covered in black liquid. Thomas’ heart ached painfully – he couldn’t lose him.

“Come on, Newt,” Thomas said and tugged him, starting walking again. It was difficult without Minho helping him out, but Thomas tried not to think too hard about it, gritting his teeth and stubbornly taking a step after step.

Suddenly, Newt tripped, his legs entangled, and fell, pulling Thomas down with him. For a brief moment, his tiredness took over, and Thomas just lay there, on the ground. He knew he had to get up, but he couldn’t make his body listen to him. He wanted to close his eyes, to give in just for a little while, just for a minute or two. He was exhausted, his muscles were aching to the point of numbness and for a moment Thomas felt like he was floating. His consciousness slowly started to slip away as he sank deeper into the arms of Morpheus.

Newt coughed beside him, startling Thomas awake. _No_ , he said to himself, _I can’t give up_. Groaning, Thomas rolled over to his side and then made himself get up. He swayed on his feet for a few seconds, his head spinning. Thomas closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. When his vision came back to normal, he came up to Newt and tried to lift him up, but Newt didn’t let him. 

“Tommy,” Newt whispered and gently pulled at his hand. Thomas tried to resist, but Newt’s grip was surprisingly stronger than he thought.

“Newt, we don’t have time for this,” Thomas said firmly and tried to lift him up again, but suddenly Newt’s hand was gripping his shirt tightly and pulling him down. Thomas stumbled, but remained on his feet. “Newt, remember what you wanted to tell me and then you’d tell me when you’re safe.”

Newt shook his head and pulled again, this time making Thomas fall on his knees.

“No,” he whispered and his voice broke. His eyes were almost black and filled with tears. His hair was wet and tousled, sweat was running down his face and only now Thomas saw that it was covered in black veins. “There won’t be another time.”

For a moment, Thomas felt like he forgot how to breathe. He blinked a few times as if dazed, before finally finding his voice. 

“No,” Thomas said softly and shook his head. He freed his hands from Newt’s and laid them on Newt’s cheeks. “No, shut up. Don’t you even _dare_ say anything!” he raised his voice when Newt tried to interrupt him. “You’re not gonna die, not right now nor in the nearest future. You heard me? _You will not die!_ ”

Thomas knew he was nearly shouting. He heard panic and desperation but he couldn’t help it. Tears rolled down Newt’s face.

“Listen to me,” Thomas said more quietly, trying to calm both himself and Newt, “I know you’re tired and scared, and you want this to be over, but you can’t give up now. We already found the cure, and Minho will be back any minute, _any second_.” Thomas worried his lower lip and ran his thumbs soothingly over Newt’s cheeks. “Please, Newt, I don’t want to lose you,” Thomas’ voice broke and he felt a tear roll down his cheek, but he ignored it.

Thomas felt like he couldn’t breathe when Newt shook his head desperately. Newt’s hands shook as he tried to get a hold of his necklace, face changing and hardening. Finally, he gripped it and pulled, breaking the chain and shoving his trembling hand in Thomas’ face.

“No, Tommy,” he said, his voice was desperate, “I don’t have time, you need to take this.”

“Newt-“

“Take it!” he shouted suddenly, his face twisted in anger. 

Startled, Thomas covered Newt’s hand that was still holding the necklace with his own. His mind was playing tricks on him as Chuck appeared before his eyes, giving him his crafted totem before dying in his arms. It felt like a déjà vu, a sick joke even. Thomas was lost. He saw Newt’s eyes clearing a bit, him coming back to himself just for a little while. He squeezed Newt’s hand more tightly in his own and softly ran his thumb over Newt’s knuckles.

“Please, Tommy,” Newt breathed out. “Please.”

“Okay,” he whispered, swallowing thickly. Thomas took the necklace and quickly put it in his pocket. “All right, now come on, let’s go.”

Carrying Newt by himself was extremely difficult. For such a delicate frame he was rather heavy, especially considering that he was barely moving his legs. They were moving way too slowly for Thomas’ liking, it seemed like they weren’t making any progress at all. Thomas didn’t know how much longer his body could take it. Every cell in his body was protesting against it, but his mind was screaming at him to keep going. _Any second and Minho will be back_ , he thought. _Just a few more steps, a few more seconds and he’ll be here._

Newt’s body suddenly went limp and his legs buckled out under him, pulling both boys to the ground. Thomas crawled over to him, ready to help him to his feet again, only to see that Newt passed out. Thomas stood up and gritted his teeth, grabbing Newt under his armpits. The Flare was winning, but there was still one thing he could do until Minho comes back with the cure.

Thomas’ arms shook as he tried to drag Newt toward the exit. It turned out to be much harder than he expected, and Thomas could swear his arms would fall off any second now. He was exhausted and sore all over, his head was spinning and his lungs were ready to give up on him. _Where the hell was Minho when he was needed the most?_

His knees buckled and Thomas fell with a cry. Explosions and screams were still surrounding them, but for a while it seemed like the time froze. Eyes drooping, and the idea of abandoning everything and dying here with Newt didn’t seem so bad anymore. What was the point of him if he couldn’t save him? Without Minho, dragging Newt was simply impossible, and Thomas never felt so doomed in his life.

Thomas watched the sky as he started slipping away, when:

“Thomas.”

Someone was calling him.

“Thomas.”

He had heard this voice before, he was sure of it. He couldn’t figure out where and when, but he just knew.

“Thomas!”

His eyes snapped open. _Teresa._

He quickly got up and foolishly tried to find her, mentally slapping himself for it. Of course she wasn’t there.

Teresa was saying many things. How she wanted them to help more people and how she needed him there, with her. He couldn’t believe that she was really asking him to join her after everything she’d done. He couldn’t believe himself when he realized that even after all this, he was ready to forgive her again. He wanted to save his friends, she wanted to save everyone. There was no black and white, and yet both of them were right, in their own ways.

“You can save him,” Teresa said. “You can save Newt. The cure… It’s your blood, Thomas. It’s in your blood. All you have to do is come here, to me. We both can still save him, save everyone.”

Everything else that she still had to say turned into a dull noise in the background. All he kept hearing is Teresa’s voice, saying the same sentence again and again: _‘The cure is in your blood, Thomas. You can still save him.’_

There was a small croaking noise behind him. For a second Thomas froze, but then forced himself to turn his head toward the sound.

Newt slowly rose to his feet, but didn’t turn around, keeping his back to Thomas. He was quiet, and Thomas was too afraid to say anything, afraid of what he could see.

“Newt?” He asked finally after what felt like forever and held his breath.

Slowly, Newt turned to him and Thomas felt like all the oxygen just left his lungs.

It wasn’t Newt anymore, not _his_ Newt at least. His eyes were black and bulged, and there was no sign of recognition on his face. Newt just stood there, watching him while Thomas felt like he just died with him.

Suddenly Newt growled and charged at him. Thomas barely had time to duck.

"Newt, stop!" Thomas cried and dodged another blow. "This isn’t you!"

Newt growled and jumped on him, knocking Thomas off his feet. He fell on his back and before he could understand what was happening Newt’s hands were on his throat. He tried to loosen his grip, but Newt was definitely stronger. His vision was getting blurry and part of him was already ready to say goodbye, when suddenly the hands disappeared and he was able to breathe again. Thomas coughed, hungrily taking the air in, his throat aching. He looked up at Newt and saw that his eyes cleared and he was watching Thomas with fear.

“It’s okay,” Thomas whispered, squeezing Newt’s hands in his. Thomas’ heart was wildly pounding in his chest and he was still scared of what just happened, but he tried his best to comfort him. “It’s okay, Newt, okay…”

“Forgive me, Tommy,” Newt whispered and snatched Thomas’ gun, putting a gunpoint to his temple. Thomas felt like an electric shock ran through him.

“No!” He shouted and knocked the gun out of Newt's hands.

Immediately Newt’s eyes got clouded again and he let out a deep growl as he punched Thomas hard in the face. A pierced pain made him choke on air and he willed nausea to go down, his vision blurring. Lights danced before his eyes and all he could feel was Newt’s weight on his hips and hear his angry growling. Thomas tried to push him off, but his hands weren’t listening to him and he didn’t have enough energy left to do anything other than try to keep Newt’s hands away from him. 

He must have passed out for a second, because out of nowhere there was a knife in Newt’s hands, and Thomas panicked that he would try to kill himself again, but with a loud growl Newt aimed it at Thomas’ chest.  A sudden rush of adrenaline was all that helped Thomas to keep the blade a couple of centimeters away from his heart. His hands shook as he tried to keep it away from him, but Newt was determined and kept pushing and pushing until the tip of the knife cut Thomas’ shirt and his skin with it. Thomas let out a pained cry, feeling how the tip was going deeper. Gathering the remaining bit of his strength, he took one hand away from the knife and slapped Newt hard on the face, knocking him off him in a process. Thomas quickly scrambled on his feet, swaying a little bit, but willing his body to listen as Newt was already running back at him. Newt was angrily swinging his knife, letting out nonhuman sounds and trying to get to Thomas, and Thomas didn’t know how much longer he could duck away. He was getting closer and Thomas was running out of ideas, another second and he was going to die, he was sure of it. Another second and Newt was in his face, swinging his arm again and Thomas was ready to feel the knife going to his side, to feel the searing pain.

But nothing came.

Everything stopped. He felt Newt going numb in his arms and Thomas leaned back to look at him, and froze. The knife that was aiming at him just a second ago now stuck out of Newt’s chest. Thomas blinked slowly, then again, thinking it’d disappear, but it didn’t. He looked up at Newt, still not believing what was happening. Newt’s eyes were clear, and Thomas’ breath hitched as he realized that it was the most sane look of him for the last ten minutes.

“Tommy,” he let out and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, before Newt’s eyes rolled back and he was falling on the ground. Thomas was quick to catch him, falling together with him.

Thomas’ hand was on Newt’s back as they both reached the ground, softening his fall. Not that Newt still cared. His eyes were open, looking up, but not seeing. His chest wasn’t raising and falling with breaths, his heart wasn’t beating. His body was like a stone under Thomas’ hands, heavy and unmoving. Thomas shook his head.

“No,” he said quietly, still watching Newt as if any minute he’d laugh and say that it was a joke. “No, no, no, no…”  

Thomas’ hands moved desperately from Newt’s chest to his neck, down to his wrists and then up again, searching for the pulse. He laid his head above Newt’s heart, hoping to hear a faint heartbeat, but there was nothing, and Thomas didn’t know what to do. There had to be something he could do, because _this,_ this wasn’t right. Newt was supposed to be alive, they were supposed to save him. Teresa said he – Thomas – was the cure, then how could it be that he couldn’t save the most important person in his life? One of the few who deserved living more than anyone.

There were voices, calling out for him, but he ignored them. He couldn’t take his eyes off Newt, so pale, so still, so _dead_. How could Thomas let this happen?

The steps were getting closer. He felt hands grabbing him, heard someone gasping behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Minho, falling down on his knees beside him, shaking with sobs as he looked at his dead best friend. He probably blamed himself, too. The Keeper of the Runner not being able to be back in time. But it wasn’t his fault. It was no one’s fault, but Thomas’.

And he will never forgive himself.

***

When Thomas opened his eyes, it was solid darkness all around him. The buzzing in his head was killing him, and he couldn’t hear anything, except for his loud breathing. His cheeks were noticeably wet and tingled from tears. Thomas closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.

It wasn’t the first time him having this dream. Every time it felt like he was reliving that day all over again: the same fear, despair, the same anger and pain. Letting people down and losing them again and again. Everything was coming back to him with renewed force.

Thomas sat on the bed and nervously ran a hand through his hair. His hands were shaking, and his heart was pounding loudly in his chest. Suddenly his breath hitched and a quiet sob escaped from his chest. Thomas quickly covered his mouth with his hands and took another deep breath, trying to hold back the approaching hysteric, but it seemed that it had an opposite effect. He tried to muffle the sounds, count to ten, distract himself, anything, but his hands were still shaking, and it wasn’t working, and the sobbing was only getting louder. He didn’t want to be seen like that. He was the leader; he wasn’t supposed to be like that. So weak and broken and _pathetic._ He needed to be strong and confident, he had to know what to do and say, he had to lead them to their future, not just cry his eyes out about things that happened or had to happen a month ago. He didn’t want to wake Minho up or Brenda, or Frypan, didn’t want them to see him like that. He didn’t want to wake up-

“Tommy?”

There was some rustling of the sheets to his right, and suddenly there were arms around him and he was pulled down. Thomas was so lost in his thoughts that at first he didn't even grasp what was happening and why he was suddenly moving somewhere, but then his head touched Newt's chest and he felt like cold water was suddenly thrown at him. Because Newt was _here_ , with him, alive and breathing. He wasn't lying on the cold hard ground with blood pouring out of his body; he was warm and his heart was beating and just this simple thought turned out to be Thomas’ last straw, and tears streamed down his face. He buried his face in Newt’s chest and wrapped his arms tightly around his waist, going completely limp in the embrace.  

Newt buried his nose in Thomas’ hair and tried to pull him even closer to him, holding him tightly. It wasn’t the first time that he woke up in the middle of the night because Thomas had another nightmare. Usually he just tossed and turned and, if Newt was really lucky, he managed to wake Thomas up before the nightmare got too intense. But sometimes they were so sudden, sneaking up on Thomas so quietly and unnoticeably, that in one moment Newt would fall asleep with his head on Thomas’ shoulder and his arms around his waist, and the next he wakes up from his screams. Everyone here had them, the nightmares. After everything they’d been through it’d be a miracle if they didn’t have them. Some of them were bad, some – not so much. He had his nightmares too. Him, turning into a crank, losing it to the Flare, killing his friends or watching them suffering. He always woke up covered in sweat and breathing heavily with his heart running so fast it felt like he himself was running for the last few hours. He usually had trouble falling asleep after them, seeing the same scenes before his eyes, the same pained faces. But he was used to them, got used to pain a long time ago. Sleepless nights weren’t something unusual to him. But Thomas wasn’t him. They were following him everywhere, no matter how happy he was during the day, they were always waiting for him, hiding at the back of his mind. And it was killing Newt that he had absolutely no idea how to help him, the person whom he loved the most.

As much as he didn’t want this, it seemed that it was turning into their routine. Newt closed his eyes and ran his hand through Thomas’ wet hair, slowly rocking him and muttering sweet nothings in his ear. He felt Thomas holding on him with a death grip, like he was afraid of letting him go, afraid that it wasn’t real.  Newt swallowed hard and wrapped his legs around Thomas.

It took some time, but gradually Thomas started to calm down, his grip on Newt’s waist loosened a bit, his breathing became more deep and quiet. Newt’s shirt was wet with tears and cling uncomfortably to his body, but Thomas wasn’t crying anymore and his cheeks were slowly drying up.

"It’s all right, Tommy," Newt whispered softly, and ran his hand through Thomas’ hair. "It was just a bad dream, _none of that was real_. Everything is all right."

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his nose against Newt’s neck, taking a deep breath. It was calming, being surrounded by Newt, breathing him in, holding him like that. There was always something about him that had this effect on Thomas. No matter the Scorch or the Maze, no matter how filthy or dirty he was, Newt always felt like home, he always smelled like home too. Now they had showers and clean clothes, they had a place to sleep and food to eat. Now Newt smelled like a shower gel that he liked to use, he smelled of apples and clean clothes, and it was doing things to Thomas that he never imagined. It was calming, it was arousing, it was addicting. He wanted to fill up his lungs only with this smell, to hold Newt this close and never let him go. 

"You ... You wanna talk about this?" Newt asked carefully, wondering what kind of nightmare it was this time. It always depended on a nightmare Thomas was having. Sometimes he was ready to tell everything at once, immediately spilling out all the details and letting Newt rock him to sleep after that. But sometimes he only shook his head silently, keeping everything to himself until the time felt right or he just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Thomas was silent for a few minutes. The panic almost receded, and emptiness slowly took its place. He didn’t want to say anything, he didn’t even want to think. He knew that the minute he starts talking about this nightmare, the tears would come back with a new force.

"You know you don’t have to, if you don't want to, right?” Newt said quietly. His voice was as gentle as ever and his lips were soft as they pressed against Thomas’ forehead, but the next moment the scenes from his nightmare broke out before Thomas’ eyes when Newt could do nothing but scream and yell and roar, and once again tears started running down his face. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

"It was... We..." Thomas’ voice faltered and broke. He took a deep breath again and felt Newt kissing the top of his head. Thomas swallowed loudly. "We didn’t have time. We ran out of time to give you the cure and you _died_."

Newt took a deep ragged breath. He wasn’t surprised, he expected that the nightmare would be somehow about him or Teresa. Sometimes they were about the Flare or WCKD in general, sometimes Thomas dreamed about Ava Paige or Janson, or trying to save Minho, but failing again and again and again. But most of the time it was either him or Teresa, both falling to their death.

"But I'm here, Tommy," Newt said as calmly as he could. He carefully unwrapped Thomas’ arms from himself and pulled back a little to look into Thomas’ eyes. "You saved me. You knocked me out so Minho had time to run back with the cure. I'm right here and I'm with you, _and I swear this is not a dream."_

Thomas’ vision became blurry and he blinked, letting more tears to roll down his face, and Newt immediately reached out to wipe them away. His hands stayed on Thomas’ cheeks, his thumbs running gently under his eyes, and Thomas squeezed his hands for a moment before wrapping his arms around Newt’s neck, clinging to him like his life depended on it.

Newt carefully laid them back down on the bed. Thomas immediately put his head on Newt’s chest, right above his beating heart, throwing his arm across his waist. His breathing was almost back to normal, and the panic finally calmed down. _This_ was real. They _saved_ him, _Minho was just in time._

Newt covered them both with a blanket and pulled Thomas closer to him, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself. It wasn’t Thomas’ first nightmare nor it’d be his last, but they’ll work this out. _They will make it through._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea in my head for a while and I couldn't sleep until it was finished. I _really _hope you enjoyed it!!! Please leave kudos and tell me what you think!__


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